


Mourning of a King

by CharlotteDaBookworm



Series: Galahdian!Kings [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Galahdian Culture, Galahdian Royalty, Gen, Nyx is King of Galahd, One Shot, Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 14:32:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16120460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlotteDaBookworm/pseuds/CharlotteDaBookworm
Summary: In which Nyx allows himself one day a year to mourn his lost people





	Mourning of a King

Nyx ran calloused fingers across smooth, sun-lit stone.

 

This was the only day that he ever came here, the only time that he could ever force himself to be here – every year, he requested this day off and spent the whole of it sitting in front of this memorial.

 

It was a pretty thing, he supposed – if a bit Lucian, despite being a Galahdian memorial, though that could be excused by the location – but Nyx hated what the thing represented.

 

The Fall of Galahd.

 

_(It sounded like some mighty thing, phrased like that. Like some noble fall, something that happened slowly – like Galahd hadn’t held out for decades only to be gone in a matter of days. Like the bodies that littered the streets, and the jungles, and the beaches, weren’t evidence of a massacre._

_And it made it sound like Galahd was gone._

_He hated the word_ fall _– like they had lost something outside of land. Because, yes, he missed his home – but Galahd survived. Galahd was the people – Galahd was in every person with their blood, was in the beads that they wore and the food that they ate, Galahd could be found in every storm on the horizon._

_The Fall of Galahd – every time he heard it, Nyx wanted to scoff)_

 

There were no names, no inscriptions – there were too many to fit on the stone without the carving becoming illegible, too many names that the Lucians didn’t know, but Nyx thinks that if he focused long enough he could list every person who had died trying to escape Galahd’s shores.

 

Every person who he had _failed_.

 

Libertus and Crowe, they thought that he did this to torture himself, a lot of people probably did honestly – it wasn’t exactly a secret that Nyx kept vigil at the memorial on the anniversary of the loss of Galahd, nor was it one that he hated the thing and wouldn’t go near it any other day of the year.

 

But Nyx was a King and these were his people – even the dead, _especially_ the dead – and they deserved to be remembered. Deserved to know that their sacrifices were known and that they weren’t in vain. All he could do for his fallen people – people who had fallen due to _his_ mistakes – was pay his respects on the anniversary of their deaths, and so he did.

 

And it helped the living too.

 

His people, all of whom had lost kin alongside Galahd, could see that their King hadn’t forgotten the sacrifices that were made. It gave them hope, made them proud of their heritage in a city that castigated them for it.

 

So, no matter how muc he hated the damned thing, Nyx spent the anniversary every year kneeling in front of the monument.

 

Because he’s a King and his people always come before himself.

 

Noise from behind him caught his attention, but he kept his eyes fixed on the stone. He didn’t need to look to know who it was, didn’t need the way that his gifted magic hummed in recognition to relax.

 

Kings had their own rituals – Nyx knew that personally – and Regis Lucis Caelum, King of Lucis, was just as prompt in his yearly visits to the memorial as Nyx himself was.

 

For several moments, the two men – two royals, two leaders, two Kings (for all that only one was known as such) – existed in silence, united in their shared grief for the people who they had failed to save on the day years ago.

 

_(It was this that had first caused Nyx to start respecting Regis._

_He had come to Lucis – heart worn and weary, feeling as though he had failed his people completely – determined to hate Regis. Nyx had used the man as a symbol of everything wrong – of Mors pulling back the wall, of Somnus’ betrayal of Ardyn who was one of theirs, of the loss of Galahd – and he had wanted to_ hate _him. Despite choosing to swear himself into his service for the safety of his people._

_And, for months, he had succeeded – he had hated the aloof figure that the other King made, so different from the way that Royalty was treated in Galahd, he’d hated the discrimination that his people faced at the hands of the Lucians and had blamed Regis for his people’s actions. He had hated him._

_Until the first anniversary._

_Until Nyx, sitting vigil with his fallen people, had seen Regis come to the memorial with only a minimal guard in what was obviously not a publicity stunt. Until he had seen the grief in the mans eyes, the regret and the guilt and the loss._

_Until he had looked into Regis’ eyes and seen himself._

_Suddenly, he couldn’t hate Regis anymore)_

_(He understood him far too well for that)_

 

Nyx was used to this – the familiarity of the silent routine soothing his soul a little – and was consumed by the grief that he only lets free on this day, so he didn’t notice the storm brewing until a second presence made itself known behind him.

 

Cor’s bitten off curse nearly made him smile, even as he leant back into the hand now on his shoulder. Taking comfort in the familiar presence without moving his eyes, Ramuh had always taken care of his own.

 

“King of Lucis.” He could feel Ramuh’s slight twitch of acknowledgement towards the Lucians, before the grip on his shoulder tightened slightly. “Young King.”

 

“Old man.” He said flatly, quietly, unable to express the storm of emotions that this day brought out in him.

 


End file.
